


Can't Get Enough

by trashfortimmy



Series: Quarantine & Chill [7]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Couch Cuddles, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, Marking, Netflix & Chill, Nipple Play, Oh and Also, Post-Quarantine, esp now he has armie irl, just a lil, still their first actual meeting, timmy is still very horny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:02:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25673257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashfortimmy/pseuds/trashfortimmy
Summary: Netflix & Chill. FINALLY!Now that the boys can actually be together, they deserve to have a little bit more fun.And they literally can't get enough of each other.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Series: Quarantine & Chill [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686802
Comments: 24
Kudos: 79





	Can't Get Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Hello party people! Happy Smutty Sunday 😉😏
> 
> I am back with another installment in the lives of our quarantine boys. Only now, they're not in quarantine anymore and they can actually touch each other yayyyyy.
> 
> This scene takes place a little after the last one, like later in the day. They're still at Armie's apartment, having some chill time slash fun time on the couch.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Timmy is comfortable within the circle of Armie’s arms, in his apartment, on his couch. 

The whole day with him has been so enjoyable and _safe_ , as if they’ve been together all this time.

After they’d each gotten one orgasm out of the way, they’d spent a few hours in bed, talking and trading kisses and touches until they decided to move to the couch to cuddle and watch TV before dinner.

Armie had given Tim the remote, shown him how to access Netflix. He’d immediately landed on The Great British Baking Show, put on an older episode just because he was a sucker for Mel and Sue’s particular brand of silly, pun-filled banter.

Armie’d watched with him for a while, his body a solid weight behind Timmy, comforting and warm. Then moved out from behind him, placating his whines with the promise of a homecooked meal, left him on the couch with a kiss to his head. 

Now Tim’s only half paying attention to the contestants bemoaning the sad state of their bakes and the drama of the final countdown, focusing instead mostly on the sounds of Armie moving around in the kitchen. 

Timmy stares at the TV, zoning out to the accented dialogue and light, cheery music as the most amazing smells waft through the apartment. At this point he’s seen the episode multiple times, the show having served as a comfort during quarantine, loves that he’s able to watch it with Armie now. 

Well, with Armie in close proximity. He’s paying more attention to the noises coming from the kitchen anyway, picking up every drawer opening and closing, every swipe of the knife against the cutting board, every sizzle of something cooking away on the stove.

Too comfortable to turn his head and look, he imagines Armie moving around the space with ease, his movements graceful as he flits between chopping up ingredients, stirring the mixture in the pan, and stepping away to grab something extra from the fridge. 

He likes the way Armie moves, the way Armie moves against him. Likes the way Armie holds things, the way Armie holds him.

Likes the way Armie’s clothes fit him, hanging loose on his skinny body. He’s absolutely obsessed with their size difference, has always been excited by the fact that Armie is just _huge_.

And now he knows that’s true _everywhere_.

He knows because Armie had shoved him down on his huge cock, let it fill his throat, held him there. Even when Armie had let go he’d kept on holding himself there, not ready to give up the feeling of being so perfectly full, had tried to stay down on Armie’s dick long enough to really feel it, had been desperate to feel it even after it was gone.

The sound of silverware rattling around in a drawer startles him from his thoughts and his eyes land on his lap, where a fairly obvious partial bulge has formed. The tight fabric of Armie’s borrowed boxers does nothing to hide his stirring arousal, but he doesn’t have time to calm down or make it less obvious before he hears footsteps behind him and Armie’s voice calling, “Food’s ready.”

Armie comes into view and there’s nothing Timmy’d like to do more than to pull him down and take care of them both. He looks so soft in his cozy joggers and plain white t-shirt, hair fluffy and a mess, the combination of the warm evening light and the few lamps turned on in the apartment casting him aglow.

Apparently he’s this gorgeous all the time. 

Timmy can’t help the way his eyes rake over his entire form, taking in every inch of delicious softness, before skittering back up to the plates in his hands, watching as Armie deposits them on the coffee table in front of him. Steam rises from juicy-looking steaks and piles of multicolored vegetables, the accompanying aromas making his mouth water.

“Looks so good,” he says appreciatively.

“Thought I’d make something simple,” Armie tells him, and Timmy makes a move to sit up, getting himself ready for the meal, moving over a little to make space for Armie to sit next to him. 

Armie’s borrowed boxers probably aren’t hiding his slightly plump member from view all that well, but Timmy tries not to be so obvious anyway. He wants to put a napkin over his lap as quickly as possible; and his plate, too, providing even more layers between his barely-concealed cock and Armie’s eyes. _Now it’s time to eat_ , Timmy reminds himself, a tiny part of him thrilling at the idea of saving his arousal for later and trying not to get lost in thoughts of all the ways they could use it.

Once he’s sitting upright, he’s grateful that the oversized (also borrowed) t-shirt falls into his lap and completely covers his crotch. The neck is so wide on him that it falls to the side, exposing his collarbone and the edge of his shoulder, but he can’t be bothered to fix it as Armie hands him a napkin (finally) and sets down his silverware next to the plate in front of him. He looks eagerly at his heaping portion of food and goes to grab it.

“And special,” Armie says, apparently completing his previous thought. Timmy freezes mid-reach and looks over at him, taking a couple of seconds to piece together what he means, before matching Armie’s smile with one of his own.

Armie wanted to make him something special. 

He leans in and presses his smile to Armie’s cheek, gives it a kiss. Then turns back to the table to grab his plate and bring it into his napkin-covered lap. 

They eat mostly in silence, occasionally laughing at a silly moment in the show or making appreciative noises over their delicious meal. 

With each bite, Timmy savors just how delicious it is. Armie is a _very_ good cook and Timmy would not mind getting fed by him more often.

He tries to chew more slowly than he normally would, tries to make the meal last. As he swallows, he remembers swallowing Armie’s come only a few hours ago. Now something else Armie made is inside him, too. 

He has little parts of Armie in him, his delicious cooking, his pungent seed. He feels lucky. He feels _happy_. 

Timmy leans into Armie so the length of their upper arms from shoulder to elbow press against each other. Giving Armie some of his weight is his way of saying, _Thank you_ and _I’m glad you’re here_. He feels Armie lean into him too and hopes it’s his way of saying it back.

They finish up the last few bites of their dinner pressed together like that, moving only as much as they need to bring the food up to their mouths or wash it all down with careful sips of their drinks.

Timmy’s done eating first, taking the plate from his lap and placing it back on the coffee table in front of them, wiping his mouth with a flourish and settling back against the couch cushions, happy and full. He gets lost in the episode they’re watching, fascinated by all of the various traditional pastries from around the world that he’s never even heard of before. 

Zoning out, he mostly focuses on the show, registering Armie moving to clear their plates out of the way in his peripheral vision. The clattering of dishes and the brief sound of running water also register but don’t disturb him from his practically prone position, the soothing nature of the sounds from the television and the digestion of his food both aiding in sinking him further into relaxation.

He’s brought out of his post-meal coma by Armie’s hands on his shoulder and upper arm, which clasp firmly and then tug at him until Tim’s body is wedged between the vee of Armie’s legs again, back pressed against Armie’s chest. Another episode has started auto-playing, but Tim’s paying less attention to that now and more to the fact that he’s comfortable and warm against Armie. Placing his hands over Armie’s on his stomach, Timmy sinks back into his body with a sigh.

His dick had managed to stay calm throughout the entirety of the meal, and even through the rearrangement of their bodies so they could press together just so, as yet more lighthearted cake and pastry related drama plays on the screen. He tries his best to stay in the same tranquil, sated state he’d found himself in while eating next to Armie, but suddenly he’s _too aware_ of the fact that he’d managed to wind himself down.

Timmy becomes aware of other things too, like the fact that Armie’s dick is directly behind his ass with how they are nestled together. His brain gets stuck there for a while, trying and failing to not think about the fact that Armie’s giant, gorgeous cock is _right there_. 

Armie’s thumb starts moving back and forth against Tim’s stomach, caressing him lightly over the material of his borrowed t-shirt. The movement is supposed to be soothing, or perhaps it’s absentminded, but it just brings to the forefront of Timmy’s mind the fact that he’s wearing Armie’s clothes, that Armie’s hands are placed on his body not all that far away from his crotch. 

As Armie’s finger continues to stroke back and forth, Timmy finds himself wishing that the other fingers of his hand would start to move too. Maybe they could stretch out, touch the waistband of his (Armie’s) boxers, sneak under the elastic and find bare skin. Then curl back towards the palm and lift the hem of his (Armie’s) t-shirt, tickling against his belly as they go.

Timmy barely resists the urge to squirm at the thought of those wandering hands, shifting slightly against Armie’s body behind him. He wonders if his subtle repositioning had caused him to push against Armie's groin at all, if he’d accidentally caused his cock to stir, tries to move again without making it worse.

Now he does feel those hands start to move, and Timmy panics for a hot second before he realizes that he’s being held tighter, almost as if Armie wants to keep him still. The grip on him is more firm and Armie’s cheek is pressed up against the side of his head, hot breath puffing against his hair.

Timmy’s trying his best to do what Armie’s asking without words, but his body is stiff with effort and his mind won’t let go of the fact that he’s probably rubbed up against Armie’s cock already, and might do it again if he keeps moving. So he stays still.

Apparently Armie wants to add his own small torture to Timmy’s current situation, because his right hand finds the edge of the borrowed, too-large t-shirt and lifts it slightly, fingers brushing across the skin above Timmy’s left hip bone. The light touch sends a shiver through Timmy’s body and this time he has to move, has to let it flow through him. He takes a deep breath as he shifts, moving his upper body so it ends up tilted against Armie’s, head resting at an angle on his broad shoulder. 

The shift also takes away the feeling of Armie’s hot breath puffing against his curls, and Timmy feels like he can breathe a little bit, lets out a sigh as his blood pressure lowers and he’s able to relax back into him again.

This new angle is definitely comfortable, and he feels warm and safe in Armie’s tight embrace. He loves having Armie all around him, his big, strong arms wrapped around his body and his clothes against his skin. It feels all encompassing.

Add to that the fact that he’d committed himself to Armie just a few hours earlier, after they’d claimed each other with kisses and bite marks and hands grasping each other tight. After he’d come under Armie’s touch, made him come in return, tasted him, ingested them both. 

Armie’s inside of him, all around him. He feels surrounded, owned.

He’s able to relax further with that reminder, the knowledge that he is Armie’s and Armie is his. They belong to each other now.

Timmy zones out again, enjoying the press of his body against the solid weight of Armie behind him, the heaviness of Armie’s hands resting against him.

His awareness melts away again and he’s able to just be, cozy in the circle of his lover’s arms.

Something brushing against his neck startles him a few minutes later, and his body gives a little jolt before he quickly realizes it’s only Armie’s hand, his left arm having unwound itself so he could trail his fingertips up and down the soft skin at the side of his throat. Timmy can feel Armie’s breath against him, too, knows it’s because Armie’s turned his head down so he can look at the path his fingers are currently tracing.

The fingers become particularly interested in a spot near the base of his neck, where it meets his shoulder. Timmy doesn’t think anything of it, lets him explore as the hosts chatter on about fruit tarts, until the pain of Armie’s finger pressing into a particular spot makes him flinch.

His mind flashes on an image of the bruises -- from when he’d gone to the bathroom after Armie had come, when he’d washed his hand of both of them, when he’d caught a glimpse of the bruises in the mirror and couldn’t stop looking at them -- as well as the memory of how they got there.

Armie’s bruises.

Armie’s admiring his bruises.

Timmy hums and sinks into him, leaning to the side even more, the back of his head dragging across Armie’s shoulder to expose himself further, wordlessly urging him to continue.

And Armie does continue, keeps brushing his fingertips across the bruises, pulls his t-shirt to the side to examine them further. Puts his mouth on them, giving them each a few soft, lingering kisses.

Pulls back and presses into one of the bruises again. Timmy is convinced he’d done it just to watch him squirm. Again.

He settles back down as Armie starts pressing more tender kisses along the edge of his t-shirt collar, letting his mouth fall just inside the fabric where it meets Timmy’s skin. Pulls at it again to expose still more skin to kiss. Uses his other hand to reach under the hem of the shirt near Timmy’s hip, brushing across his side with a firmer caress.

Timmy looks down, straining his eyes to see without changing the position of his neck. He looks at Armie’s t-shirt, Armie’s hands.

He’s wearing Armie on him, his clothes, his smell. Armie takes up all his senses, permeating into him and settling inside. 

Timmy pushes back into Armie’s body with his hips and head, momentarily arching his back before bringing a hand to rest against Armie’s thigh.

He feels Armie’s lips on his neck start to kiss him with more force, more wetness. He’s lightly sucking on the bruises now, and occasionally kissing up Timmy’s neck, then back down to suck the bruises some more.

Armie’s hand comes to Timmy’s other hip, mirroring the position of the one already settled on the other side.

Suddenly the soft sucking of his rhythmic kisses turn sharp as Armie gets his mouth fully around a bit of bruised skin and sucks, hard this time.

At the same time Armie moves his hands down to Timmy’s crotch, both firmly pressing into him until one reaches the bulge in his borrowed boxers and grasps at him through the fabric. Bites at the marks lightly within the grasp of his lips. Timmy gasps, then hisses, body unsure whether it wants to pull away or lean into the sensations. 

He’s wanted Armie to mark him for so long, has always wanted to wear his marks with pride. He already knows he’ll watch as they turn every shade from dark purple to light, sickly yellow, won’t let them fade away completely before asking Armie to mark him again. Wants them on his body always. Wants proof.

His outfit suddenly reminds him of the time Armie asked him to be his camboy, only now it’s Armie’s clothes he’s wearing. At the time, he’d wanted Armie to claim him so badly, to mark him, to make their connection visible somehow. 

He thinks about how much he’d wanted Armie all over him, inside him. How much he’d liked Armie taking control over his orgasm, over his whole self.

He’d wanted to be good for Armie, to do what Armie asked. 

Armie pulls his mouth off Timmy’s skin, keeps it close. Grabs Timmy’s cock through his boxers with a confident, firm grip. At the same time he brings his mouth higher on Timmy’s neck, lets his lips touch down on the spot just below his ear.

“Mine,” he growls, squeezing Timmy’s cock at the same time.

A shiver works its way through Timmy’s body and he thinks that maybe Armie gave him this outfit on purpose. That maybe Armie was thinking of their little scene, too, and in some small way wanted to recreate it, wanted Timmy to wear this particular outfit when Armie could actually touch him, actually mark him, actually claim him for himself.

Armie fondles him, palming and rubbing at his clothed crotch with just the right amount of pressure to drive Timmy absolutely crazy. Moves down to his balls. Massages them through the fabric.

“Still got anything in you?” 

Timmy shudders. He never imagined he’d be so ready to blow his load so soon after his first orgasm actually under Armie’s hand (and mouth, too). 

And on their first real date no less.

But he knows he’s kidding himself because when it comes to Armie, it doesn’t take much. When it comes to Armie, he’s pretty much always ready to go, just wants him all the time.

“Need to come again, baby?”

Timmy feels his cock straining up into Armie’s hand and knows that he can feel how desperate he is for him again already.

“Yes, Armie,” he manages to choke out.

Armie rubs his hands on him, over his boxer-clad hips, cock, the tops of his thighs. Moves his hands back up to his belly and sweeps them across it, exposing more bare skin as he goes.

“Mmm,” he’s humming in appreciation, the vibrations of it rumbling through Timmy’s body with how his lips are pressed to Timmy’s neck, chest pressed to his back.

Armie’s hands snake around his middle, arms coming to cross over themselves at his lower belly to hold him tight again. Nuzzles his nose against his neck, lips occasionally brushing over the skin too.

“So perfect,” he says, the words spoken directly against his skin.

Armie’s praise goes right through him, and he feels warm all over. Then the arms loosen and uncross, giant hands coming to rest against Timmy’s hipbones again.

This time Timmy intentionally moves his hips back against Armie’s crotch, no longer worried about accidentally arousing him. This time it’s purposeful, a hard press that reveals to him just how affected Armie is by having him here, too, and can’t stop moving after that. Just has to keep gently rocking back and forth. 

“God, you look so fucking good,” Armie says, watching him, moving the collar of his borrowed shirt even farther down his shoulder to kiss at the skin there, mouth moving dangerously close to the many-layered bruises at the base of his neck.

Timmy can’t help but press back into him with full force this time and finds that Armie’s cock is a hard line against the thinly-clothed skin of his ass.

“Fuck, Armie. You feel so good.” His senses are completely overwhelmed, not yet used to having Armie’s voice in his ear _and_ the vibrations of it against his skin. Not at all used to hearing Armie’s words _and_ feeling his touch. The combination is almost deadly.

Armie’s hands move to either side of his cock, nestling into the crease of his groin, fingers gripping at his inner thighs. He loves having Armie’s hands on him, lets his body be loose so he can move between their touch and Armie’s cock behind him, little movements of his hips continuing to carry him between the two equally appealing touches. He loves having Armie’s hands on him, loves being able to feel the firmness of his cock against his ass, his solid chest an anchor behind him.

He feels Armie’s eyes on him and he keeps slowly moving, going back and forth with his hips, grabbing at Armie’s thighs with his hands.

“Fuck,” he says, his own cock hard and straining in his borrowed boxers, fingers digging into Armie’s flesh. 

“I’d pay to watch you,” Armie tells him, still speaking close enough so that Timmy’s skin prickles at the feeling of his hot breath against his neck, the vibrations of Armie’s voice going right through him. 

Armie moves one giant hand over Timmy’s clothed cock again, stills it there. Timmy can’t help the way his hips arch up into his touch.

He barely has enough brain power to respond, panting, “Good thing you don’t have to,” feels like it might be the last intelligent thing he’ll say for a while.

His last braincell is obliterated when Armies other hand smooths up his torso, pushing at the bunched edge of the t-shirt, to pinch at his nipple. The bud is squeezed in between Armie’s giant fingers and the move goes straight to Timmy’s dick. 

“Armie,” he gets out, desperate for him to continue as much as he’s desperate for him to stop. It’s almost too much.

The man in question just hums and pinches his nipple again, this time rolling the hard bud between his fingertips and flicking his nail lightly across the bumpy, peaked tip.

Timmy cannot help the way his body squirms in every direction, no doubt rubbing up against Armie with full force now. Armie pinches at the same time as he lands a particularly sweet, wet kiss against Timmy’s neck and he just has to arch his back. The pressure of Armie’s pinch doesn’t let up and Timmy simply must dig his fingernails into the man’s thigh.

Armie finally releases his nipple, hand moving down his body to squeeze at his hip instead.

“Behave,” Armie tells him, and that goes straight to his dick, too.

It surprises Timmy how eager he is to comply, to try and stop the movements of his body because Armie asked him to, but he isn’t successful at stilling himself completely. Little twitches of his hips and flexes of his fingers into Armie’s flesh remain, greedy for more of the feel of him.

Luckily Armie is there to help him out, moving the hand on his hip across his stomach to the opposite side, laying his forearm across Timmy’s body to effectively lock him in place.

“Can you stay still for me?”

Timmy nods and uses the pressure of Armie’s forearm and several deep breaths to ground himself, to bring himself to true stillness. He lets all his muscles be slack, gives himself over to Armie once again.

“Good boy.”

The praise immediately warms him from the inside. He’d never known himself to be so affected by someone’s words, never wanted to please anyone this much.

Armie brings his hand up to Timmy’s mouth, traces around his lips as Timmy’s tongue pokes out in an attempt to coax the digits inside.

“Want my fingers, baby?”

Timmy’s mouth is already watering as he nods his head.

“Yeah,” he breathes.

Armie pushes two fingers past his lips and Timmy immediately closes around them, closes his eyes too as they sink towards the back of his throat, sliding against his tongue. Armie moves his fingers in and out, never fully leaving the wet channel of his mouth, fingers lingering on the back of his tongue, tells him “You can take it so well.”

Armie smooths his palm over Timmy’s chest and belly with his unoccupied hand, bumping into the bunched up edge of the t-shirt on the way up and the waistband of his borrowed boxers on the way down.

Tells him to touch his nipple himself this time, to pull at it, make it hard. 

Timmy’s hand moves to his nipple, uncovering it further as his hand pushes the t-shirt further out of the way so he can get his fingers around the little rosy bud. He pinches it and his whole body reacts.

“Yeah, just like that,” Armie says, a little bit of awe in his voice, punctuating the words with a soft kiss to Timmy’s shoulder.

Timmy keeps on teasing the hard bud, following Armie’s words as much as his own instincts. He loves being good for Armie, loves that he wants to take control and make him feel good. Knows that he’ll do both. Trusts him. 

Armie puts his hand over Timmy’s trapped dick again, only this time it’s fully straining against the fabric, now clinging a bit in certain places. Timmy moans around the fingers in his mouth at the fact that Armie can encompass all of him in one hand, knows he’s already addicted to being held by him.

The fingers fall from his mouth and the hand moves along the length of his dick, grabs him through the material of his-their boxers. 

Armie gets a fist around his clothed cock and starts stroking. He’s grateful the cotton is soft and lightweight enough to let the heat of Armie’s hand seep through. He takes in Armie’s touch, his warmth.

Armie slides the fabric along the length of Timmy’s cock, which hardens further and lets out even more sticky precome as the giant hand moves up and down, slowly, purposefully.

“I love when you do what I ask you to.” The way Armie’s speaking against his skin makes him feel like this is just for them, that Armie’s the only thing that matters. He knows he’s under his spell, would do whatever he asked.

He presses into Armie’s touch, up to lips and down into his hand, giving himself over.

“Anything for you.”

Armie’s hand lets go and smooths upwards til it’s positioned right above the waistband of their boxers and Timmy can’t take it anymore. Needs Armie to touch him, now.

“Please, Armie.”

“Please what, baby?”

“Put your hand on me,” he says, somewhere between a moan and a whine.

Timmy gets a growl and Armie’s hand squeezing at him again. 

He gives a little jab of his hips up into his hand, urging him to get on with it already and touch him for real, without anything in the way.

Luckily he gets the message quickly and slips his hand underneath the elastic of the boxers, Timmy’s stomach swooping with anticipation.

It’s only when Armie grips him flesh-to-flesh that he realizes how hard he is, how desperate he is to come. 

And Armie seems to sense it, too.

“Can you come again, baby? Would you do that for me?” 

“Yes, fuck.”

The hand starts moving again, only now within the confines of the now-tented fabric, thumb tracing over the tip of Timmy’s cock, swiping at the precome gathered there and smearing it down the shaft in one swift motion. Timmy gives a little helpless moan and unconsciously starts moving his hips again, chasing more of Armie’s touch, encouraging his hand to slide fully up and down the entire length of his cock.

Then an arm is locking back around his waist again, and he’s held there as the hand keeps stroking at him, setting its own pace.

“I said, stay still,” Armie tells him firmly, and Timmy’s body immediately stops moving. He can hear Armie’s little huff of breath, pleased at Timmy’s obedience, how quickly he’s complied, can feel the smile pressed against his neck. 

“You like to please me, don’t you?” He feels the words as much as he hears them, Armie's lips still touching his skin, sending shivers through his whole body.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Baby boy. You’re so fucking good. So good for me.” Armie’s voice is rough and deep against him.

Timmy moans.

“Should I stroke you til you come? Just like this?”

“Shit, Armie...”

“Yeah? Want me to make you come?”

“Yes please.”

Armie’s got full control of him now and Timmy loves it. Loves giving himself over, loves being taken care of, loves how hard he makes him. He’s already addicted to the feeling of Armie’s hand on him, how he makes him feel, how their pleasure seems to be wrapped up in each other’s. 

The stroking continues, the hand warm and soft against the skin of his cock. Timmy feels himself leaking, his slippery precome easing the way for Armie to slide up and down without much resistance, then start to twist on the upstroke, thumb moving all around the head on the way back down.

Timmy never wants to stop being touched by him.

Armie stops stroking then, uses one hand to grip his cock while the other hand comes to the waistband of his boxers. Armie’s finger hooks in and his lips are at Timmy’s ear. 

“Take these off.”

They work together, Armie pushing at the fabric from one side while Timmy takes the other and wiggles his hips. He barely feels the cool air of the room hit his cock with how he’s wrapped up in Armie’s giant hand, which practically covers the entire length of him. It’s a sight that Timmy doubts he’ll get tired of looking at any time soon. 

His boxers sit near his knees, elasticated waist loose with how they’re halfway down his legs.

Now there’s one less layer between the bare skin of his ass and Armie’s still-clothed cock. He pushes back into it, imagines being skin-to-skin with nothing in the way. 

Armie seems to be thinking about it, too, as he gives a thrust of his own, pressing his cock further against Timmy’s ass. Timmy wants to feel it so badly, wants Armie’s dick inside him, wants to connect with him in every way possible. 

He can feel how hard he is, how much he wants this too. Thinks about how easy it would be for Armie to slip himself out, to slide inside him. To stretch him out, to open him up.

Timmy is fully thrusting into Armie’s hand now, the arm around his waist providing him with a bit of leverage, its grip still firm and tight. Armie seems to allow it, seems to want Timmy to move, even matches Tim’s thrusts with some of his own.

He’s close, so close now.

“Fuck…”

“You close?”

Timmy nods, back of his head rubbing against Armie’s chest behind him, hips never ceasing their thrusts up into Armie’s closed circle of a fist.

Armie asks where he wants his load and Timmy’s movements stutter for a moment before he kicks the boxers fully down around his ankles, batting Armie’s hand away. Spins himself around quickly and gets up on his knees, immediately taking himself in his own hand. 

Then with his free hand he’s pushing up Armie’s shirt all the way to his armpits, exposing his chest and abdomen. He runs his palm over the expanse of skin, loving the smoothness of his belly, the comparatively rough brush of his chest hair, the ripple of his muscles beneath the skin, eventually settling on the spot right above his diaphragm, fingers stretched out over the expanse of flesh. Looks up at his face.

“Right here?” he asks.

Armie smiles at him, nods then says “Yes,” and Timmy appreciates that he’s said it out loud.

It only takes a few more strokes after that.

“Oh, fuck!”

He comes, hard, all over Armie’s stomach, his abs, spurting up to his chest, some of it landing in the dark dusting of hair there.

He pants for a few moments, eyes wandering as he comes down from the high of his orgasm, until his gaze locks on the bit of his own release in Armie’s chest hair and he just has to taste it. He leans down and eagerly laps at the patch of hair nestled between the two hard pecs, licking long stripes to clean up all of his come. 

He falls into Armie’s body just to the side of the remaining mess and they snuggle up, an arm coming to wrap around his back.

Armie’s free hand comes to rest against the side of his neck and he winces slightly.

Oh god. His neck.

He knows Armie fucking ruined his neck. He’s bit it so many times by now. The skin there is so sensitive, hurts a little with the pressure of Armie’s hand, even with how it’s just resting against him.

But he doesn’t move away, instead burrows his face further into Armie’s neck. He breathes in his scent, relishes the softening of his limbs as he’s wrapped tightly in his comforting embrace. 

Then Armie is kissing his temple, his cheek. Asking him, “Will you stay?”

Timmy speaks against his skin. “Of course.”

Pulls back slightly and turns up his head, asking for a kiss. Armie doesn’t hesitate, gives him a few soft pecks.

As they pull away, Timmy briefly registers the _'continue playing'_ screen frozen on the TV, their show long forgotten in favor of a different kind of entertainment. 

He returns to the crook of Armie’s neck, nuzzles against it. Smiles when he thinks of the marks blooming anew on his skin. 

Timmy loves knowing that Armie’s here to take care of him, to kiss him better when he’s a little sore tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone else thinking about splinters a lot lately? ...
> 
> I may be back with another installment, I have a few scenes loosely sketched out for the future. I'm back at work full time now and it's completely draining and exhausting, so not sure about the timing or if any of those scenes will become a reality.
> 
> In any case I have absolutely loved writing this story and loved having all of you as readers.
> 
> Thank you!! XOXO


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